


How Good Of A Favor?

by acollectionofficsandshit



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: "good girl", Confessions, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Honestly it could be just teen and up but I thought I’d be careful?, It's now explicit, I’m sorry it’s a bit of a mess, Not Beta Read, Nothing explicit but if someone wants it to be I can do that?, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Seriously though if you want something explicit let me know!!!, rating went up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acollectionofficsandshit/pseuds/acollectionofficsandshit
Summary: “But at the very least, we could do him a favor."“What kind of favor?” Max’s eyes narrow in question.“We could make sure you have something good to tell him about.”“Oh? Just how good of a favor are we talking?” Max asks, the tone of his voice is borderline dangerous.
Relationships: Max Verstappen/Original Female Character(s), Max Verstappen/Reader, Max Verstappen/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-read so sorry!! This is not based on any actually specific race obviously! Also I'm considering making this explicit... like continuing the work and escalating but I'm on fence about it! If there's any interest in that, let me know? I don't know if this really qualifies as mature but I'm just erring on the side of caution.

Normally in post-race interviews Max was always the same, happy but bored, complacent now the driving was over, and he had nowhere better to be. Now, he was like a caged animal, the energy closer to what it was like before a race, not after. Especially not one he’d placed second in.

“This is a question for Max,” an interview stated. “Clearly something has gotten under your skin. Is this about not winning today? Do you believe you drove better than Hamilton today?”

The room fell silent at the question, the other drivers shifting around uncomfortably. Max just stared down at the interviewer, trying desperately to remember what the man’s question had been. Lewis, standing beside him elbowed him hard in the side, trying his best to get him out of his head. Likely that move would be interpreted in a million different ways to have a million different meanings, but Max knew it for what it really was. Answer the question before you make a scene. Say something, anything because right now something is better than nothing.

“Um, no, that has nothing to do with it. As always, Lewis drove exceptionally, there’s a reason he’s at the forefront of Formula 1. I’m proud of how I drove today, I’m proud of how the car handled. That’s all. Thank you.”

Max stood, gave a rare, forced smile, at the crowd and left the stage. He heard Lewis jump to cover for him, as he’d known he would, the two of them had formed a partnership of sorts. All those weekends spent sitting on the first and third seats had left them quite comfortable with one another. Lewis would cover for him, well enough that even Christian wouldn’t be able to be too angry with Max, but he’d certain want details later. Max just hoped he’d have a good story to tell.

He’d been so certain this whole time this would be what she wanted. Through the race, the interview, through the time it took him to cross the paddock, to here. To where he was standing like an idiot outside the door to his RV. Outside his own door. Suddenly he wasn’t certain about anything. He hesitated in front of the door, hand resting on the handle, trying to force himself to move when the door opened anyway. Trying to find the words.

“You going to stand there all day?” You said with a smile, one hand propped on your hip.

“Did you spend the whole race in here?” He asks you, closing the door of the RV behind him before gesturing for you to sit on the sofa.

“No, no I watched the race in the garage like you asked,” you laughed, trying to play off the way his gaze makes it a little hard to breathe. There’s an air of anticipatory excitement in the room and you’re hoping desperately you’re not the only one feeling it. “I watched the interview there too but when you left...” in such a mood, you don’t say but it’s implied.

Max has been your best friend for so long you know he knows exactly where your trail of thought had been going. “I came here hoping to catch you before you had to run off to deal with your,” you mimic the way his chest is heaving and breathing heavily, making him laugh, “crisis.” The smile he gives you is an open one, knowing almost.

“You didn’t have to catch me.”

“Oh? Here I was thinking I’d have to side track you on your way to find- “

“You.”

“Wait, what?” That stops you right in your tracks.

“I was looking for you,” you look at him confused so he continues. “I left for you.”

“For me? I was fine! I was where you left me. Everyone was very kind to me if that’s what you’re worried about. And I behaved! I was perfectly well behaved; you can ask anyone- “

A mouth, lips warm, soft and absolutely perfect, presses to yours, cutting you off mid-sentence. But as suddenly as they appeared, they vanished. There is no time to process what has just happened, to really think about the gravity of the situation.

It all happened so quickly that you’d easily believed it had never actually happened if it weren’t for the lingering feel and taste of his lips against yours. Good fucking god, the way he tastes is just enough to keep the fire burning for years.

You may have just felt it but now, you find you need to hear it as well. “Did you just kiss me-?”

“Yes,” Max has the nerve to look apologetic, “I’m sorry, if you didn’t want- I’m so sorry.” First, you had Max dying to kiss you, now, you’ve managed to make him nervous. What has the world come to?

“Don’t apologize,” you gesture for him to drop the tone of worry, “you left the press conference because you want to kiss me?” You clarify, desperate to understand the gravity of the situation.

“Yes, isn’t that what I just said?” he responds.

“Don’t imply it Max. Say it,” you ask, making him roll his eyes, “I need to hear you say the words.”

“Are you making fun of me now?”

“Just say it,” you start, then add a ‘please?’ for good measure.

“Fine,” he says and rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yes, I walked out a press conference to kiss you.”

“Why?”

“Because kissing you was the only thing I could think of,” he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, instead of the last explanation you’d been prepared for.

But the words might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. You want to savor them, to tuck them away and save them for a rainy day but the thought is quickly forgotten when Max clears his throat. You realize you’d been standing there in front of him just staring at him. The look on Max’s face makes it clear he can’t tell if it’s a good thing or not, the blush high on his cheeks leaning towards a vivid red.

“I-“you start, rolling a million different things you could say around in your head trying to pick the best. None of them sounds right or feels right. They all feel like they're just not going to be enough.

“Fuck it,” you surge forward on your tip toes and bring your face up to meet Max’s. Just kissing him seems the best option at the moment, because he can misinterpreted words but there’s no misinterpreting this. He catches on a split second before your lips brush his, giving him just enough time to bury a hand in your hair and bring the other to the small of your back before you’re kissing him again.

He smirks, the fucking asshole, at the way you’re backing him up against the wall behind him without breaking the kiss or any contact with his body. Lightning fast he flips the position, clearly in need to be in control of the situation, to be the one pressing your body against the wall, not the other way around.

The kiss grows deeper, wilder, when his tongue swipes across your closed lips and you open your mouth quickly, almost too quickly. He chuckles into the open-mouthed kiss, smug and self-satisfied at how fast you gave him more. That just wouldn’t do you decide, you’d have to show him, prove to him you weren’t the only one here desperate for more.

The smirk and the smug look are wiped from Max’s face when you grab the front of his shirt and yank him closer, licking into his mouth. His hands tighten their grip almost painfully, but the groan that slips out of him before he can catch it is nothing short of sinful.

Fucking fantastic, now you know you’re likely to want to spend the rest of your life trying to get that sound out of him again. You can't help but to whine at Max when he pulls back from you, hands still holding tightly to the front of his jumpsuit.

"I was right," Max says, eyes scanning you head to toe, taking in the way the kiss has left your chest heaving, hair tousled and cheeks flushed.

"About what?" you ask him absently, trying desperately to catch your breath. His hand drifts up to your cheek and he drags a thumb lightly across your parted, already kiss swollen lips. The feel of the rough pad of his thumb against the sensitive skin of your mouth sends a shiver down your spine and reignites the heat already at boiling point in the pit of your stomach. "I don't remember what we were even talking about?"

Max laughs at that and shakes his head, "nothing that's important now, if I was right and you did want me to kiss you."

"Oh, yeah, that," you smile, "yes. I did want that." His hand is still resting on your face, his thumb still tracing the outline of your mouth.

You'd tell him to stop touching you because it wasn't exactly making having this conversation any easier to have, not when you couldn't focus when he's touching your lips like that, if it didn't feel so fucking good. No, I don't want him to stop touching me, you think, deciding to keep the request to stop and the comment about just how distracting it is, to yourself.

"Good. I was worried there for a second," he admits quietly, almost shyly. That uncertainty breaks through the touch drunk haze that you're in at the moment. Hesitantly and achingly slow, giving him time to stop you if he doesn't want you to touch him like this, you raise one of your hands from where it clutches at the chest of his jumpsuit to trace his jaw, mirroring the path his fingers trace against your mouth.

Instead of pulling away like you'd been afraid of, Max leans into the touch, eyes falling shut as he openly savors the feel of your fingertips dancing across his face. You smooth the pad of your thumb across the sweep of a cheekbone, then down the line of his nose, and then the swell of his cupid's bow. You take the chance to study his face, one you hate to admit you’d spent far too much time soaking in over the years than a best friend probably should have. You’d been afraid you’d been obvious at times but clearly Max had missed it entirely. But apparently, you weren’t the only one who’d missed a lot.

“Did you really think you were-” you falter on the words you were about to say, suddenly worried they would be too forward or be too much. You decide to voice them anyway, “alone in this?” Your voice sounds timid and uncertain.

Max’s eyes snap open, revealing surprise and something almost like hope, glimmering there. The look in his eyes, combined with the way you could feel his sudden in take of breath in response to your offered sentiment, makes you want to interrupt whatever he’s on the edge of saying so you can kiss him again.

“So, I’m not alone in this?” he breathes, and you shake your head.

“Never,” you offer.

“You’re certain?” he asks, and you nod in response, even as the question of exactly how he feels begins to nag at you from the back of your mind. At the moment, that seems like a conversation for a later date, one when you’re not near bursting point to find out just how quickly he can get out of his jumpsuit and what exactly he has on underneath it.

“I’m certain I want you to kiss me again,” you say, moving your hand that had been resting on his face to his hair. You scratch your nails lightly over his scalp, tousling the still slightly sweat damp strands. The feeling of your fingernails against his skin pulls a ragged shiver from his body, the reaction making you grin. You continue, “I’m certain I like you better without the cap on, so I can see your face. I’m certain you’re easier to kiss without it on. And I’m certain you want me to keep touching you almost as much as I want you to keep touching me.”

That last statement is a risky one, but you say it anyway. It’s a risk that ends up paying off, when he raises an eyebrow at you in a flirty, challenging way. “Is that so?” he asks.

You nod mutely and go to undo the button fasten at his neck. Once it’s freed you find the zipper and pull, relishing the act of undressing him. When the jumpsuit is unzipped to the waist, you let your hands move back to their spot on his chest, not failing to take in the way you can now feel his heart beating through the thin sweat wicking t-shirt he wore beneath the suit.

Max shifts his stance and easily closes the distance between your bodies, moving forward until your chest and hips are pressed flush against his. While the movement stops your progress in undressing him, it’s obvious from the way he’s now pressed against you, he had approved of the action. Max was simply asking that you wait, that you follow his lead. That was something you were more than willing to do. You’d willingly offer him a great deal more if he asked it of you, but you pushed that thought to the back of your mind. That train of thought could wait.

“What else are you certain of?” Max asked, bringing your attention back to the moment.

Because it seemed right to take a little of the pressure off, you tease “I’m pretty certain you’re going to get in trouble for the little stunt you pulled in that interview.” That makes him grunt in agreement.

“Don’t remind me just yet,” he begs, “I don’t want to deal it. Plus, Lewis did his best to cover for me so just so you know, he’ll be wanting payment in the form of knowing where the hell I was off to.”

That makes you laugh because it was the last thing, for the third time today, you’d been expecting him to say. “Is he as much of a busy body as he seems?”

“You have no idea,” you both laugh. “But I don’t really want to talk about Lewis Hamilton right now if you don’t mind,” he says, leaning in to brush a kiss against the side of your neck.

“You brought him up in the first place,” you point out, “but at the very least, we could do him a favor."

“What kind of favor?” Max’s eyes narrow in question.

“We could make sure you have something good to tell him about.”

“Oh? Just how good of a favor are we talking?” Max asks, the tone of his voice is borderline dangerous, and it sends a thrill through you. He moves without warning, making you jump in surprise when his tongue darts out to trace the shell of your ear. You let your head fall back to rest against the wall, bearing your throat to him. Max takes the hint, moving to nip lightly at the tender skin, careful to sooth each little bite with a following kiss.

You shrug, and lacking anything better to say, take the thumb still resting against your lips between your teeth, biting down lightly. That distracts him. “This good?” you offer, then wrap your lips around his thumb and suck gently.

Max lets out a choked noise at the action, the groan deepening to something nearly animalistic when you flick your tongue against the pad of his thumb and suck harder. You pull his hand from your face with one of your own, dragging it down the side of your neck and across your chest, before letting it rest just below the swell of your breast.

Offering him a playful grin you brush a kiss against his lips, then press one on each of his cheeks, followed by both eyes, his chin and his forehead. As you let your lips move lazily back to his mouth, Max gets impatient of waiting for you to find your way to his lips again. This time when he kisses you there’s no tenderness or uncertainty to it.

The kiss is fierce and demanding, it’s not bothering to hide exactly what it is, a demand for more immediately. You return the kiss with a ferocity you hadn’t know you were capable of until he’d touched you earlier. Quickly the kiss devolves into more of a mess of tongues and teeth and hunger than lips but neither of you are complaining. You’re both breathing hard as hands begin to explore every inch of skin they can find, and you arch your hips up to find any form of rough friction you can.

Suddenly, Max is hauling you up, up, up into the air, his hands sliding to the backs of your thighs and lifting them up. You jump at the movement, quickly wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. Everything outside the RV, outside the circle of his touch is completely forgotten, dropping away without a second thought.

“Shower?” he mumbles against your lips, not bothering to break the kiss to ask the question. You nod eagerly in agreement.

“Shower, now.”

Max kicks the door to the tiny bathroom of the RV open and sets you down gently on counter, still refusing to pull away from your lips. Your fingers quickly find the zipper of his jumpsuit where you’d left it earlier, and finish unzipping it to his waist. You help his shrug his arms out the jumpsuit, letting it pool on the ground around his ankles.

“The sooner you stop kissing me,” you laugh into the kiss, “the sooner you can find out what I’m wearing under this.”

“You make a good point,” he says finally pulling away with an uncharacteristic pout, you can’t help but to find annoyingly attractive. “Can’t argue with that.”

“Help me?” you ask, gesturing to your sweater and he moves forward eagerly, quick to haul the hem of it over your head along with the light tank top you’d been wearing beneath it. “Thank you,” you smile at him and lift up on your tip toes to brush an appreciative kiss across his lips.

Max is watching you closely, not missing a single detail of the black lacy bra you have on, eyes widening slightly when he takes in just how sheer the fabric is. You can’t help the blush that spreads across your cheeks at the way Max is looking at you, pupils blown so wide there’s no blue left.

The small bathroom is filled with the sound of undressing, both of you focusing on removing your own remaining clothes until all that’s left is between you is his boxers and your lingerie. You’re breathing hard, like you just ran a race, as you lean back against the counter. It’s your turn to watch, ‘to watch him like he watched me’, you think to yourself as he busies himself with the shower, clearly familiar with the process as he adjusts the temperature and pressure of the water.

God, has he always looked like this? you wonder to yourself, letting your mind get lost in watching the way his muscles move, the way he pushes back the hair the falls in his eyes. Has he always been this gorgeous and I didn’t notice?

No, it’s not that you realize. It was that you didn’t, you wouldn’t, let yourself admit just how closely you were watching him when you’d go jogs together on the mornings you both had the time or just how much you would enjoy the view provided by a shirtless, laughing Max on the days you tagged to along with him and some of the other drivers for a lazy day out on one of their boats.

You had noticed and had been noticing him for longer than you’d cared to admit. It was only now that you could let yourself acknowledge the way your gaze and your thoughts lingered on him, and just how often they’d remain on him even after he’d left. Only now did you tell yourself that the way you looked at him was okay, and that was only because somehow, you’d managed to miss that he was looking back at you the same way.

There was something deeply gratifying and even more intensely, seductive, in the fact that the longing you felt, the way you craved to touch him and to be touched by him was not only clearly welcomed by Max but was a mutual sentiment. You couldn’t help but to revel in that thought.

Max cleared his throat, breaking you out of your revery, and asked, “care to share with the class?” The grin he gave you was playful and bright enough that he was telling you that you didn’t expect you to tell him, that he was only teasing.

You weren’t sure if you could back away from the taunt because not telling him felt a little bit too much like he was winning a game you didn’t want to lose but sharing your exact line of thought you could be damaging. It could be embarrassing. You could be wrong, you could have miss read this conversation, you could have misread the hand now extended in proffered assistance to join him in the shower. Am I wrong? you ask yourself, slipping into self doubt.

But no, you finally decided, I’m not going to overthink this, enough of that. Shimming out of your bra and matching thong, you toss them to join the assortment of yours and Max’s clothes already on the bathroom floor.

“I was just wondering,” you start and then break off to accept Max’s help, letting him pull you along with him into the warm shower. Once you’re both standing close enough for his liking, sharing the water, and hands begin skating over a heart-stopping amount of bare skin, you try again. “I was just wondering if your ruthless, dominating and competitive reputation on the track applies in other settings.”

The statement hangs in the air with the steam pouring out of the shower, making you want to suck the words back in and cringe at the sound of them, when Max lets out a low, dangerous laugh.

“Are you asking me if I fuck like I drive?” you nod wordlessly, feeling absolutely mortified. It's impossibly crass, but leave it to Max to fearlessly sum up the idea you'd been dancing around.

Suddenly, you’re looking desperately anywhere but at Max’s face or below his hips. You turn to face the shower wall; it seems a safer bet than continuing to face him. Max’s arm encircles your waist, pulling your back to his chest and making you jump in surprise. His lips brush against your ear, his entire body pressing closer, “find out.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the tease but I promise it'll get better! It'll be up shortly, I promise!

_“Are you asking me if I fuck like I drive?” you nod wordlessly, feeling absolutely mortified. It's impossibly crass, but leave it to Max to fearlessly sum up the idea you'd been dancing around._

_Suddenly, you’re looking desperately anywhere but at Max’s face or below his hips. You turn to face the shower wall; it seems a safer bet than continuing to face him. Max’s arm encircles your waist, pulling your back to his chest and making you jump in surprise. His lips brush against your ear, his entire body pressing closer, “find out.”_

\----------------------------------------------------

His words ricochet through your body, setting your skin on fire and wiping your thoughts blank. You relax into him, your wet back pressed flush to his chest and your head falls back to rest on his shoulder, baring your neck and throat to him. Max lowers his mouth to your neck, the kisses he presses there are open mouthed and hungry. His hands dance over your skin, exploring every inch on their path from your hips to your chest. Brushing his thumb experimentally across one nipple, Max palms the other, kneading at the delicate skin, causing a slight hitch in your breath.

In the past a man’s touch like this feels pleasant, this barest touch of everywhere but exactly where you desperately want it to be, but Max’s calloused hands makes you wonder how you’ve gone this long with anyone’s touch but his. This realization makes you bold, makes you resolve not to hold back anything right now. When he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, you let your head fall back against the wall of the shower, enjoying the way the tug of his lips ricochets through you to thrum in your core. The moan you let out would be embarrassing if it wasn’t tempered by the water falling from the shower head and his groan of approval. Max repeats his motions to your neglected breast, this time nipping lightly at the peak, while you whine at the hazy effect the equal measure of pain and pleasure has on your brain.

“Max, please,” you say, burying your hands in his hair, so you can drag his mouth away from your chest and back up to meet your lips. He hums against your lips, one of his hands tracing circles on your hipbone while the other pulls your wet bodies flush to one another.

“Please, what?” he taunts, grinding his hips against yours in an open, desperate search for any sort of friction to provide some relief.

“Please touch me, Max” you whine.

“I like how you say my name. Say it again,” he says, his voice hitching when your lips venture away from his, instead kissing and tasting down the side of his jaw and his neck. You trace the same path he’d taken when it had been his mouth against the column of your throat. Max arches his neck, leaning into your touch. His pulse already thundering under your tongue but its impossible to ignore the way it leaps when you whisper his name again, and then again, against his skin.

“Max,” you kiss the place where his collarbones meet his shoulders, “Max,” your lips leave ghost like touches across his chest, “Max,” you repeat. He groans and hitches his hips forward, forcing you to stop your mouth’s assault on his chest. You can feel the weight and warmth of him against your thigh and just the feel of it, of just how much he wants you right now, makes it harder to ignore just how much your body is crying out for more. You want to feel him, all of him and more intimately than you are now. You want him inside of you, you need to feel him buried between your legs or to take him in your mouth. The vision in your head makes your mouth water and the need for more of him now is enough to have you sinking slowly to your knees.

Your eyes find his and you don’t break the eye contact, the desire to watch his reaction to what you’re about to do outweighing the urge to get a good idea of what he looks like from a new angle. You take him in your hand and stroke him firmly, enjoying the way his eyes fall shut at the contact, his breath visibly hitching in his chest. You tap at his thigh with your unoccupied hand to bring his gaze and full attention back to the sight in front of him. Max’s blue eyes are nearly all black when his lids flutter open and he looks down at you, something wild and starving replacing the clean cut desire that had been there previously.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice gravely and rich, “you look so good, so fucking good, like this.” His hands bury themselves in your hair, his hold on you hard enough to send a thrill down your spine but not harsh enough to hurt. The sting, like how his teeth wrapped around your nipple had been, is the perfect middle ground between painful and erotic.

“Like what?” you say with mock innocence, leaving teasing kisses across his thighs and his hips as you slowly work your way to his cock. “Kissing you?” you leave a glancing brush of lips to the base of him

“Like this, on your knees,” Max supplies, hungrily watching your every move, “with my cock in your mouth.”

“Getting a little ahead of yourself, are we?” you reply teasingly. He opens his mouth in a retort then snaps it shut when your tongue delicately traces the vein that runs the thick length of him, from where his cock starts, all the way to where the skin begins to darken at the tip.

 _“Fuckkkkkk,”_ he hisses out, dragging the word out until he abandons English all together and it gets lost in a incoherent jumble of Danish. “I just want to see you with my-”

We freeze when someone starts banging on the bathroom door, the sound of their fist too loud to be on the door that leads to Max’s trailer. “Max? Max! You better be in there or we’re both dead,” the person calls throug the door, sounding equally terrified and furious. “Netflix is here.”

You look up at Max in horror, mouthing the words _‘Netflix’_ and ‘ _here’_ at him with wide concerned eyes. He gestures to convey his own lack of understanding, before holding a finger to his lips, silently requesting you remain silent. He waits for your nod of ascent before continuing.

“Um, here?” Max calls out, sounding breathless. Deciding that the moment is probably doomed, you scramble to your feet, trying to be as silent as possible.

“Well not here, here,” the person amends quickly and both Max and you let out a relieved sigh. “Here as in back at the garage and looking for you. You were suppose to come straight back after the post race interview so they could get the wrap up shots they needed but you-”

“But I never did,” Max interrupts, finishing the sentence for him. “Um, hold on?”

“Okay?” the other man sounds a bit confused, “we don’t have long. Just towel off and throw some clothes on, don’t worry about your hair, we can figure that out once the producer has eyes on you.”

Max is looking at you apologetically, an actual apology poised on his lips when you wave it away, hoping that the disappointment crushing your chest doesn’t show on your face.

 _“It’s fine,”_ you mouth silently, _“I understand, I get it, really.”_

 _“It’s not,”_ Max shakes his head emphatically. He takes you by surprise when he takes your face in his hands and kisses you firmly. It’s the first time since the interruption you’ve touched one another and you’re startled to find the effect he has on you is the same. A small part of you had been worried that all of this, from his confession to the first kiss to naked tumble into in the shower, was nothing more than illusion that would fade once the bubble had been popped. But the goosebumps that irrupted across your skin at his touch and the way you leaned into his touch, chasing the warmth that radiated from his body, told you that all of this was very, very real. Real for you at least.

“Hey,” Max whispered against your lips, “look at me.” With some effort, you forced yourself away from the worries now flooding your head and met his gaze. Your foreheads are resting against one another and his thumb is tracing soothing circles on your cheek. “This is what we’re going to do.” You nod, not trusting your voice to be as quiet as his is, carefully pitched as it is to be covered by the running shower.

“I’m going to turn off the shower and you’re going to stay behind the curtain and staying completely silent. I’m going to the door just enough to get a change of clothes from the assistant, close it and then change. You stay where you are and wait here until you here the trailer door close. Get dressed, wait for a few minutes and then slip out once you’re sure that I’m gone. I’m sorry but I have no choice but to go and see what they need from me for the cameras,” Max says in a hushed rush. You nod in response, feeling stupid and childish as tears burn at the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall. You blink repeatedly, forcing them not to.

“Hey,” Max says, his nose nudging yours, “this is the important part, okay? This thing with Netflix won’t take more than a couple hours and as soon as that’s done, I’ll meet you back at the hotel.” You can’t help the small smile that spreads across your lips at that, and it only grows when Max notices it and grins too.

“You’ll meet me back at the hotel and...?” your voice is so quiet he’d probably have missed it if he wasn’t so close he could feel your eyelashes flutter against the delicate skin around his eyes. You trail off, but the question you’re posing is clear enough that the words themselves don’t need to be asked.

“And we’ll start where we left off,” Max offers, the tone of his voice letting you know that if that’s not what you want then now is the moment to let him know, so he has time to accept it and adjust before leaping right back into being nothing more than best friends.

“Exactly where we left off,” you promise him and then you’re closing the distance between you to press a lingering kiss to his lips. You pour everything you don’t have the time, or strength, to say to him right now into the kiss, letting the barely contained excitement and desire and joy in your body spill over into it. Max responds in kind, the speed and ferocity with which he deepens the kiss before finally breaking away, leaving you with no doubt in your mind that he feels exactly the same way.

The final thing Max whispers before he shuts off the shower is “there’s a spare key to my hotel room on the table by the door. Wait there for me.” You agree readily and jump at the offer, even though it’s not really a necessary step since his room is on the same floor as yours. He offered it not for connivence but because he simply wants you as close as possible, as quickly as possible. Even in all the years you’ve been friends, he’s never once given you a key to his room before. You know that like the kiss, this is a gesture that meant to be a reassurance, his way of telling you emphatically that he trusts you entirely.

“I’ll be there,” you promise.

"Naked?"

"Find out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments, thoughts and suggestions are always welcomed and appreciated! Thank you for making it this far in the first place!


	3. The Ending

When Max opens the door to his hotel room and slips in three hours later, you've only just dozed off despite all your efforts to stay awake. You peer through barely opened eyes around the room, checking to see if he's actually here, and it's not just your mind playing cruel tricks on you. When you see it's him- _finally_ \- your entire body goes taught as you stretch your sleep heavy limbs out, then beckon him over to the bed from where he's stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, as if a bit unsure of how to approach you now that you're naked in his bed instead of naked in his shower.

Well, almost naked to be more exact. You'd considered following his request to the letter, then felt decidedly uncomfortable with the thought of lounging around naked in his bed for the first time, alone, and thought better of it.

Instead, you'd shed all your layers save for the new set of matching bra and thong that you'd throw on under an oversized sweater and leggings during the short stop in your room you'd made after returning from the race, since you'd been feeling a little dirty in the clothes you'd had to put back on after collecting from the bathroom floor in Max's trailer. Though you had traded your leggings and sweater, now neatly piled on the chair by the door, in for a sweater of Max's you'd found slung over the sofa.

"Planning on joining me?" you ask Max sweetly, blowing him a kiss for good measure. Surprisingly, he blushes and rubs at his neck a bit sheepishly. "Don't tell me you're going to be shy now?" You slip from under the sheets of the bed and cross the room, pausing only when you're half a breath from where Max stands, frozen, on the carpet.

Not wanting to push him, you extend a hand and wait. When he doesn’t show any sign of moving, you make a quick assessment of his body language and the expression on his face, which tells you everything you need to know about how he’s feeling. The look on his face is one you’d know anywhere if only because you’ve seen it once or twice.

It’s an expression Max doesn’t let most see since it’s been drilled into his head since he was barely old enough to walk that letting others know you’re nervous is shameful, that it’s a sign of weakness and failure. You do your best to shove down that thought and the emotions that come with it, though it’s difficult to suppress the sudden urge to hunt down Jos Verstappen and to throttle him for it, to make him pay for hurting Max like this.

But that’s not the headspace where you want to be right now, and it’s most certainly not where you want Max to be so brush it all aside in favor of relishing in the moment. You give Max a soft, flirty grin, one filled with promises of the pleasures to come and cross the room to him, not stopping until you’re standing in front of him. Pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes, you wrap your arms around Max’s neck and press your forehead to his.

“Don’t get lost in your head now, Max,” something about hearing his name seems to ground him a little, the worries in his eyes beginning to clear and the crease in his brow relaxing. “You’ve already done the hard part; you’ve already told me everything I needed to hear. Clearly, I feel the same or I wouldn’t be standing in your room practically naked, right?”

Max takes a moment to mull over your words, before giving you a slow nod. The movement seemed tentative and uncertain, but you know better. Through every point of contact between your bodies, you can hear his nervousness and sudden shyness melting away as it’s replaced with the same intensity he had earlier in his trailer and in the shower. From where your chest is pressed tightly to his, you can feel the way his heart is racing and against your upper thigh you can feel his growing hardness, the increasing pressure of which is making heat flare in your own core.

When you look up at him, he’s pointedly staring at a point over your shoulder. So, you gently cup his cheek in one hand and sweep your thumb up his cheekbone, admiring the smooth skin still tinged with a blush. Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when Max leans into your touch, releasing the tension in his neck so he can relax fully into your hand. Taking advantage of this unexpected expression of trust, you tip his face towards yours.

“Hey, look at me,” you say quietly, your voice coming out much calmer than you felt. When he doesn’t listen, gaze still locked on a point on the opposite side of the room, you throw caution to the winds. “ _Babe_ look at me,” you try. Nothing could stop the massive grin you give him when he finally listens, and his blue eyes meet yours. Hearing you call him _babe_ stirred something in Max, the tenderness in your voice and the unconcealed emotion about it yanks him non to gently him out of his nervous haze.

“Let’s try this again, how about that?” you ask him.

“Okay,” he replies, voice a little shaken. “How?”

“Just walk out into the hall, count to five and then come back in again. Does that work?” you suggest. Max doesn’t reply this time, just jerks his head once in understanding and slips out of your grip. You step back a few paces and watch the door swing closed behind him, taking a few calming breaths.

The second after the hotel door room opens and slams closed, your back is against the wall and you’re kissing him back with the ferocity and hunger that’s pouring from his lips. Max’s grip on your wrists tightens and he presses his body even closer to yours, his approval for the way you’ve readily met and matched his attitude, evident.

His hands and arms are pinned to the wall on either side of your head. You’re standing so close to one another, his arms caging you, that he has you completely pinned in. You know that if you make any move to put distance between you, if you hesitated, he’ll pull away.

But Max wants to make it very clear that he wants every surface of your body to be flush against his as he kisses you, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He wants to give you an out if you need it. He offers it by not assuming anything other than the fact that you wanted to be here with him, was being carried over by the agreement to pick things back up from where they were left off.

But you didn’t want or need any distance between the two of you. You want him closer. You want to know what it will be like to be stood in the exact same spot but without anything separating his bare skin from yours. Testing the waters, you roll my hips against his, echoing the way he’d moved against you in the shower. You find you’re more desperate to see his reaction, to see if the same light in his eyes that his pelvis grinding against yours had elicited from him then, than you are for any personal relief.

Max’s responding noise as his hard cock brushed firmly against the length of your thigh makes you grin into the kiss.

“I can feel you smirking,” he says, the words are mumbled, and crushed against your lips.

“Sorry,” you mumbled back. You aren’t. But you pull the self-satisfied look off your face anyway. Max releases his hold on your wrists and slides his hands to your waist, letting them run up and down the curves of your sides.

Though your arms tingle as the blood rushes back in them after so long against the wall, you moved your hands to his chest. Trailing your hands teasingly down his chest, you feel yourself control slip at the feel of his heavily muscled body. You knew he was in incredible shape, body fine-tuned like the instrument it was from the time spent in the shower, but, fuck, is it an entirely different thing to feel it, instead of just remembering it. Without the constant deluge from the shower head and water droplets coating every surface, the experience feels entirely new.

When your fingers began to trace the down the defined lines where his body tapers into a v, Max sucks in a breath and lets it out shakily, unknowingly answering your question. You weren’t the only one feeling like this was the first time.

You tug at the bottom of his shirt and getting your message, Max leans back just enough to pull his shirt up and over his head. His hands find the hemline of the sweater you’re wearing, _his sweater_ , and he starts to remove it, then stops, freezing with it half way off.

“Before I take it off, you should know how fucking good you look in my clothes. You look so good I’m tempted to leave it so I can fuck you while you wear it,” he gives you a sinful smile, not missing the way you let out a small whimper at his words, “but I’m selfish and I want to see every single inch of you,” he finishes.

Max leans in and gives you a sudden rough, pressing kiss that steals every thought from your head and the breath in your chest along with it. Max breaks the kiss far sooner than you would have liked but you don’t say anything, only because he’s pulling the sweater the rest of the way off of you. Your bra follows it, Max tossing it over his shoulder in the same direction he’d thrown the sweater in.

Brushing a thumb over one your nipples and then the other, Max brings his lips back to yours. The pad of his thumb sends shivers through you, a jolt of electricity that strikes home between your legs. The whine that slips from you before you can stop it is embarrassingly high pitched, but you’re too far gone to care now.

Your hands fumble with the waistband of his pants for just a moment, struggling to get the clash undone. Max brushes your hands away so he can open it for you, your shaking hands struggling with the unfamiliar task. You smile in thanks then slip your hand into his pants and under his boxers. Your fingers are met with more strong, toned skin and short, trimmed hair before brushing up against his length.

Max groans into the kiss, swallowing the noise of surprise you let out when you discover that your fingers don’t quite meet. Though you’d felt him in the shower, been on your knees in front of him with him in your mouth and gagged around the size of him in your throat, you’d been in such a rush you’d somehow failed to comprehend just how impressive his size was. The thought of how he’d feel inside of you, the stretch that would be pleasure bordering on pain consumes you.

Suddenly desperate for more, you stroke the length of him firmly from base to tip. Pumping up and down with a steady hand, you watch, absolutely enthralled at his response to your touch. He thrusts into your grip, his head falling back, and exposes his neck to you. Your lips find his neck, peppering the column of his throat with small bites, before soothing away the bite with your tongue.

“God, you feel good,” he whispers in your ear. His hands massaged at your breasts, the grip becoming rougher when you brush your thumb against his tip, wiping away the bead of liquid that had formed there before smearing it down his length to aid in the continued movement of your hand wrapped around him.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Max groaned. His words nearly break you. “You have no idea know what you do to me. You drive me crazy. You undo me.”

You want to whisper back that you do know, that you knew exactly what his words meant because they were your words too. His confessions were the same ones sitting on the tip of your tongue right now, the very same ones as the ones you’d almost let spill earlier when he’d found you after the race.

You need to tell him that he undoes you too, that just a smile from him has you weak at the knees. That you had never dared to dream that he’d want you like this, that he’d want you too. You’d been willing to spend the rest of your life accepting whatever scraps he was willing to throw your way if it meant you got to keep him in your life. Prepared to spend the rest of your days watching him love someone else, to hold them and kiss them the way you were dying to be touched and held by him, if it meant that Max was happy.

But you didn’t. There would be time for that later, the conversation was tomorrow’s problem. Right now, you wanted to undo Max. To break him down, then up him back together again so you could learn every square inch of him.

Silently you flipped the position of your bodies so Max stood with his back to the wall now. Your eyes find his and you carefully hold his gaze, making sure he doesn’t miss a thing. You sink to your knees before him, bringing his pants and boxers down with you. He doesn’t seem to be breathing when you flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock and lick a wide stripe.

“Here we are… again,” you say. You can see the way his eyes are blazing, pupils blown wide, as he looks down at you. Sucking the tip of his cock into your mouth, tongue lapping at the slit, making you hum at the taste of him. His hands are buried in your hair, pulling at the strands until you hum in satisfaction around him again. Max’s hips hump at the vibration, making you gag on him, the sudden movement of his hip forcing his dick further in your mouth, knocking at the back of your throat. You bob you head up and down, one hand moving to pump what you can’t fit of him in your mouth, the other hand finding its way lower to cup his balls.

For a few moments, Max just leans against the wall, head tipped back, soaking in the moment. His moans intertwined with your name and the sound of your mouth wrapped around him are the only sounds in the room. But just as you’re getting into a rhythm, having finally built up to taking all of him in your mouth in one smooth motion, Max tugs you gently to your feet.

Shooting him a questioning look, you continue to stroke him, one hand still wrapped around his length, the motion made easier now he’s slick from your mouth.

“You’ve already taken care of me once today. Let me take care of you. I want to make you come on my fingers and then on my tongue. Let. Me. Take. Care. Of. You.”

You let out a squeal when Max suddenly tosses the jacket slung over one shoulder to the ground and stoops, wrapping an arm around the back of your knees and throwing you over one shoulder. You're smacking one hand to your mouth while the other shoots out to wrap around his waist, you're considerably embarrassed by the girlish sound you let out until Max starts to laugh.

Soon you both dissolving into laughter and the sound fills the room. The moment feels so at ease and genuine you almost forget the situation you're in, and is exposed as you currently are, slung over Max's arm in nothing more than a borrowed sweater that's no longer covering your ass and scraps of lace that barely qualify as undergarments.

The sound of his laughter combined with yours, in addition to the way you can feel each laugh bubble up and rumble through him thanks to the fact your middle is hanging over his shoulder, your front pressed tightly to his back, is enough to make you forget everything, including just how badly you want him.

Max takes his first steps towards the bed and it startles you enough that you wrap both arms around his middle, as you try not to leer at his backside, which is now just below eye level. You swat at it and he lets out a surprised yelp, which draws a giggle from you, but you're silence a moment later when Max retaliates and his hand lands squarely on your ass. You hiss and wriggle in his arms, feeling a little embarrassed at the whine that slips out before you can stop it.

That stops Max in his tracks and the grin on his face after he tosses you on the bed, as he leans down over you, is predatory.

"Did you like that?" he asks, a hand tracing along the exposed skin that lies between the waistband of your underwear and the hem of his sweater, now twisted around your abdomen after being thrown unceremoniously onto the bed seconds prior.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" he challenges, his hand changing path without warning, making you gasp has he cups your core. You try to wiggle away from his touch- which is not unwelcome, just unexpected- but that only makes your predicament worse as the heel of Max's palm is pressed down firmly against your clit. It's entirely involuntary, the way your legs lift up and then clamp down as you moan, locking his hand securely into place.

“Maybe, Max,” you don’t miss the way he leans in a little closer to you at the sound of his name, as if he can’t help but to try and get closer, to hear you say his name again. “Maybe I need you to hurry up. Maybe you’re the one who pulled me off my knees with promises of taking care of me. Maybe when I was sitting in this empty hotel room for hours and hours all I could think about was you.”

He smiles at that, then slips a finger under the fabric covering your core and sweeps it teasingly along your slit.

“Clearly whatever you’ve been thinking about was _exciting_ ,” he drags out the word. “You’re soaking wet.”

You blush a little but nod.

“Who got you like this? All...” Max pushes your thighs apart a little with his left hand, freeing up the right one you’d had locked in place. “Worked… up?” he punctuates the question with a kiss to one of your hipbones, making you hiss in surprise when he bites down hard enough to hurt and then sucks at the bite mark, not letting go until there’s a mark where his lips were. 

“You, only you,” you gasp out.

“Only me?” Max starts on another mark, this one the twin to the one he left on your right hip.

“Only you. Just you. Always-“you break off when he bites at the tender skin of your inner thighs, making his nose rub against your lace cover clit. The pressure, as light and barely there as it is, makes your body sing a little. Max huffs into your skin when he realizes what he’s done, clearly unintentionally, and readjusts. You pout down at him, a little frustrated at his determination to tease you and touch you on his schedule, not your own.

“Always?” Max asks, prompting you to continue your train of thought. At first, you’re at a loss as to what he’s referencing, the words you’d been in the middle of saying completely forgotten but as he continues his ministrations, now nipping and licking at the tender bite marks left across the tender skin along the edges of your underwear, you remember what you had been saying.

“You always having this effect on me, always have. Always made me a mess, all weak at the knees and needy.”

Max hums his approval at your confession, the vibrations of which rumble through you and you can’t help the way your hips cant upwards, chasing his mouth.

“Good. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve had to get away from everyone else to deal with the effect you have on me. Laying alone in my bed, standing in the shower, leaning in the corner of the trailer with my cock in my hand, thinking about how you’d taste, how you’d feel wrapped around my fingers, wrapped around my dick. Imaging how you’d sound when you come, how you’d cry my name. I’ve imagined making you screaming my name until you forget everything else a million times.”

Your mouth has gone dry and your brain has gone completely blank, staring down at Max openmouthed and without a single idea of what to say. You can feel the way your body is reacting to his words, the slickness between your legs pooling.

He drags both hands along your thighs and after a nod of approval from you, Max slowly, torturously slowly peels off your thong. Max’s fingers trail up your thighs, before he nudges gently at your hip. You comply, letting your legs fall apart so you lay fully exposed and at his mercy, moaning at his touch.

“You’re incredible you know that right?” Max asks you, and you just stare at him in response, unsure of what to say. He settles between your legs, laying on his stomach, his hands still resting on your inner thighs. With one finger Max traces along your slit again, a repeat of his early motion, but the time there’s no lace impeding his view.

“You’re gorgeous like this,” he continues, using two fingers to spread you open so he can truly see everything, from the perfect, dusky shade of pink to the way your hole is fluttering a little, desperate for something to clench around, for some sort of relief. “You’re always gorgeous, don’t get me wrong but like this? Bare and spread out in front of me without any shame, you’re fucking breathtaking. I want to keep you here like this forever. I just want to spend forever exploring your body, learning how to touch you, learning what you like.”

You whimper at his words, lifting your hips a little to chase the little bit of friction and relief achieved by the press of his fingers to your folds. “Please Max,” you whisper, not bothering to hide the desperation in your voice.

Without much preamble, Max sucks his pointer finger into his mouth, then works you open until it’s buried in you to the last knuckle. It slips in with relative ease, and would have without his saliva, because of just how wet and ready you are for him.

Max lets out a groan when his fingers come away soaked and the way his hand shines under the dim lights reveals your wetness is literally dripping down his wrist. He grinds his hips against the mattress, clearly desperate to feel you around all of him, but unwilling to stop fucking you with his fingers.

Your back arches off the bed when he lowers his head and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking the little bud into his mouth. Max’s eyes find yours, a knowing look in them at the way you’re writhing around on the bed but unwilling to tear your gaze away. He slides two fingers into you and begins to pump them, his tongue alternating between lapping at your folds and circling your clit. Max is relentless in his methods, fingers never hesitating or breaking the devastating pace, his tongue never remaining in the same place for more than a few moments.

You don’t know how long the two of you lay there like that, Max’s head buried between your thighs and your hands threaded through his short hair. Max is like a man starved at the way he’s tasting you, lost entirely in the feel of your cunt, in the way your walls clench around his fingers. You don’t even realize you’re about the orgasm until it hits you, barreling full force through your body, making you see white, helpless to do anything but give in to the pleasure rippling through you and cry out a garbled mix of his name and cuss words.

“Get- up- here- now-“you pant out when the buzzing in your head finally begins to subside and you clutch at his arm, hauling him up the bed towards you. Even though your whole body is shaking and your limbs feel like jelly, your need to finally feel him inside of you takes over.

“I need you inside of me, Max. Now. I need you now,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to his lips, tasting yourself there. Max’s responding kiss is far less gentle than the one you’d just given him but it’s no less welcome. He’s unwilling to break the kiss, one hand cupping the back of your neck as the other hand guides himself to your entrance. With one smooth roll of his hips, Max cock slides home, buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Fu-fuck. Fuckkk,” Max groans, eyes rolling back in his head, hips jerking forward, making you whimper in agreement. You lift your hips up to meet his on every thrust, reveling in the noises pouring from him, the little groans that turn into moans. Getting to see the effective you have on him is almost as good as the way he’s fucking you. _Almost_. You’d bet just about anything on the fact that nothing could be better than the way his dick feels pounding into you or the incredible stretch you can feel every time he pulls out entire, then slams back in.

“More, Max, more,” you beg him.

“More? Can you handle more?” he asks and there’s something wicked in his expression as if promising that you’re about to bite off more than you can chew. But you’ve never backed down from him on any front, not in the years you’ve known him, and you certainly have no intention of starting now.

“I can handle more.”

“More it is,” he responds a little too calmly for your liking. Calm, cool and collected Max is a deadly, deadly thing. Before you even have a moment to wonder if you may have just made a mistake and you’re in over your head, Max flips you over onto your stomach.

“Get on your hands and knees. Now.” He commands. You scramble to comply, trying to ignore the way your arms and legs tremble. “Good girl,” he says and slams back into you. You blush a little as a moan slips from your lips at the praise.

“You like that don’t you?” Max asks, his words coming out like he’s not currently fucking you with ruthless abandon, like he’s not entirely aware that his cock feels like it’s splitting you in half. You just nod your head in response to his question, then gasping when he grabs a fist full of your hair and yanks your head back, pulling until you’re forced to make eye contact with him.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you. You liked me calling you good girl, didn’t you? I felt the way your pussy clenched around me when I said it, I felt how much you liked it.”

“Yes, _fuck yes_ , I liked it.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Max lets go of your hair and you let your head fall forward and eyes fall shut, letting it hang between your arms while you focus on keeping yourself upright. “You’re my good girl aren’t you.”

“Yes,” you moan, rocking your hips back to meet his.

“I want you to say it,” Max demands, the hand not on your hip sliding between your legs to find your clit.

“Y-yes,” you stutter out, amazed you’re able to say anything at all. “I’m your good girl. I’m yours, yours.” You’d be more embarrassed at your words, at the confession in them, if that embarrassment wasn’t tampered down by how fucking good he feels right now and how much you want to stay like this, with him, for the rest of your life. You’d never leave this hotel room again if you had the option.

“That’s right,” Max’s thrusts take on a new edge, picking up the pace. “This pussy is mine. You’re mine. Mine.”

“ _Fuck_ _yes, it’s yours._ All of me is yours,” you promise him.

“Still want more?” he asks, and you nod your head once before remembering his earlier request.

“Yes, please.”

“Look at you, remembering what I told you. Obeying me. Good girls get rewarded.”

Max’s hands firmly grasp the back of your legs, fingers digging into the gentle swell of your ass, holding you in place. He lifts you by your rear further into the air and spreads your cheeks apart so that he has an unimpeded view of spot where your bodies join.

The sight of his cock stretching you open with every thrust is an addictive sight he quickly learns, and he finds he can’t bring himself to look away. The way he sinks into you is nothing compared to the way your pussy seems to clamp down on him like a vice every time he pulls out, clutching him like it’s trying to keep him buried to the hilt in you. 

He watches his cock slide into you, cock slowly sinking in inch by inch until he bottoms out and you cry out his name, with the air of a starving man who’s stumbled upon a 10-course meal.

“I wish you could see yourself right now, _fuck_ ,” he groans, “you’re so fucking pretty for me, so fucking good. You’re incredible, you know that, right? Your pussy takes my dick so fucking good.”

The filthy fucking things and praises spilling from his lips, along with way you can feel every single ridge of his cock as he fucks you open reduce you to a blubbering, incoherent mess. You’re so blissed out on the ecstasy rippling through you, the pleasure so consuming it borders on being too much, that you give up on rocking backwards onto him.

Instead, you fist your hands in the sheets and let go, focusing on simply keep yourself on your hands and knees. As he hits that sweet spot inside of you again and again, your back arches even further, until he’s hitting a point so deep inside of you that you’re choking back a scream with every thrust of his hips.

“I’m close,” you whimper out. “I’m so close. Fuck. Fuck, you feel good. You feel so fucking good.”

At your words, Max’s right hand slides from your cheeks and finds your clit again, rubbing rough circles on it. You can tell he’s close to, that he’s nearly there from the way his hand between your legs is steady but the pace of his thumb’s motions is not, jolting slightly. It’s the first sign of a crack in his immaculately trained facade of handling everything, from adrenaline to excitement, without showing any signs of what’s going on inside his head.

“Max, Max,” you plead, not entirely sure why your voice sounds like it’s begging for something until he snaps his hips up into you with a renewed vigor that makes the building tension in the pit of your stomach snap. Your arms give out as you finally come, falling forward to land on your elbows, crying out his name as he fucks you through your orgasm.

You’re so consumed by the rush of pleasure that’s pulsing through your body that you hardly notice when Max pulls out of you, pumping his dick in his hand before spilling himself on the small of your back. He’s panting now as he climbs off the bed and walks to the bathroom, his heaving chest and flushed face the only signs that he’s as exhausted and wrecked right now as you are. You’re slightly envious of the way his legs don’t shake at all because you know that if you were to try and stand right now, your legs would give out from under you.

“Come here,” Max says, running a damp wash cloth between your legs then across your back. You grin at him in thanks, eyes greedily taking in his face and the expanse of his naked body as he stands in front of you. He tosses the towel into the bathroom and calmly returns to the bed, peeling back the sheets and climbing into the bed. “Come here,” he repeats.

For a moment, you’re taken aback. You hadn’t even let yourself hope you’d stay here with him tonight, and you most certainly hadn’t expected him to ask you too either. Afraid you hadn’t heard him correctly you ask him, “you want me to stay?”

“Of course, I do, come on,” he chuckles softly, gesturing for you to join him. You’re none too graceful as you do what he says, your body still shaking with the remnants of your orgasm even though it had been minutes since you’d finished. You let him haul you closer to him, an arm thrown around your waist, the other cushioned under your head. He gives you a smile of approval, the look in his eyes tender and so impossibly happy when you tuck yourself under his arm and snuggle into his side.

The room is silent around you, the only disturbance of the quiet the beating of his heart you can hear as your head rests comfortably on his chest. Max is rubbing random patterns on your back, eyes closed, a peaceful expression on his face.

You let your mind drift back to earlier, to the conversation the two of you had had after the race when he’d dragged you into his trailer.

_“Did you really think you were-” you falter on the words you were about to say, suddenly worried they would be too forward or be too much. You decide to voice them anyway, “alone in this?” Your voice sounds timid and uncertain._

_Max’s eyes snap open, revealing surprise and something almost like hope, glimmering there. The look in his eyes, combined with the way you could feel his sudden intake of breath in response to your offered sentiment, makes you want to interrupt whatever he’s on the edge of saying so you can kiss him again._

_“So, I’m not alone in this?” he breathes, and you shake your head._

_“Never,” you offer._

_“You’re certain?” he asks, and you nod in response, even as the question of exactly how he feels begins to nag at you from the back of your mind._

_“I’m certain I want you to kiss me again,” you’d said, before you’d continued, “I’m certain I like you better without the cap on, so I can see your face. I’m certain you’re easier to kiss without it on. And I’m certain you want me to keep touching you almost as much as I want you to keep touching me.”_

But now you found yourself needing to know if he still felt the same, that you weren’t alone after the day’s events. As nervous as you were to ask, you did so anyway.

“I’m not alone in this, right?” you said whispered, hoping he understood what you were referencing. At the small laugh that you hear rumble through his chest, relief washes over you, replacing the uncertainty and fear with hope.

“No, you most certainly are not. I still want you and I still want to be with you like I did this morning when I stormed out of that press conference like a complete dick to come and find you.”

You replayed that scene in your head, the same nervous, leaping excitement rising in your chest at the memory.

_“Fine,” he says and rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yes, I walked out a press conference to kiss you.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because kissing you was the only thing I could think of,” he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, instead of the last explanation you’d been prepared for._

“Good,” you respond, pulling yourself out of the memories and looking up at him shyly, “because I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.” He laughs again and presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before finally finding your lips.

“You couldn’t get rid of me now if you tried.”

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments, thoughts and suggestions are always welcomed and appreciated! Thank you for making it this far in the first place!


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